Flame
by Eat a Taco
Summary: It's strange what the soft light of a candle can do to someone.RLNT, sometime during HBP


**Flame**

No. No, he doesn't want to.

He won't.

He doesn't.

Of course not!

Never!

He doesn't love her!

He doesn't love the way her smile bounces across the room with a glowing shine that brightens posture, he doesn't love the way she stands with a badly hidden confidence that manages to show through despite the fact that a humble smile masks her pride! He would never even begin to like the way she trips over her own two feet, and anyone who liked the way her lips softly curved whenever he entered the room was legally insane. And he could never even remotely begin to feel his heartbeat race when the flame softly cast shadows on her delicate face, her soft skin.

Never.

Never.

Never.

Maybe?

Never!

How long had this battle been going on inside him? _How long?_ How many nights had he silently laid awake, staring into the stucco ceiling as if it would give him a logical answer to his predicament. Her image kept him awake at night. Silently battling himself whenever she walked into the room forcing himself to avert his eyes, think of something else, keep his head straight. He had always told himself that he and Tonks' relationship was merely platonic.

That normally worked all of three seconds.

Then her perfume would invade his nostrils, make him look up, stare, see her, her smile, her confidence, her beauty, her face, her _emotions_ dangling in front of him on the string that was her figure. Then her voice would take him as she spoke his name on her lips, the melodic tune to her voice was the soundtrack to his day. And his heart would melt and leave him a babbling idiot, despite the fact that he knew that he should ignore her.

Love was the last thing on his mind.

Or, he liked to believe that.

She was like an addicting drug. The second he got her he had to have more. And he knew that he had to quit - he knew that terribly well. And he tried to quit - be he _had_ to have more - she was so, she was so - she was so Nymphadora Tonks.

A dinner party. A dinner party with a few Order members. How harmless was a dinner party? Arthur, Molly, Kingsley, Hestia, and Bill. As much as he would have preferred to stay away from it, what was he? A coward? It was a small dinner party. Harmless. Maybe she had even stopped liking him.

Well, the hair on her head blatantly told him that she hadn't, but maybe she was trying. But the dinner party would be absolutely harmless. _Harmless._

Of course, he didn't count on Nymphadora lighting the candles.

Denial had become his new method. Of course he didn't love her - and she didn't love him. He remembered when he told Kingsley of this, who had surprisingly become a close friend since Sirius' death. But he hadn't told him quite everything yet. Yet. So he carefully told him that he didn't love Nymphadora and Nymphadora didn't love him, despite rumors. He had laughed. He had laughed himself silly.

"Remus, you idiot! Anyone who hasn't realized that you two are lovesick slogs need to be hit over the head with a frying pan!"

He didn't talk to Kingsley about his denial movement from that moment. He still spoke to him about all kinds of other things, yes. But he always carefully avoided Tonks.

Well, he always carefully avoided Tonks in any situation, but that's not the point.

But how could he turn down a harmless dinner party? A totally harmless dinner party.

The thought that had crossed his mind when Nymphadora had invited him almost made him laugh.

Why, oh _why_ did she have to light the candles?

And it wasn't even as though she was haphazardly shooting flame from her wand. She was using _matches_. Matches, merely for the insane entertainment of Arthur. _Matches._ As in muggle matches. That you struck a million times until you got it to light. And she slowly drew nearer and nearer to the table where people were starting to gather to sit down for dinner. Towards the table where Remus was sitting.

Oh, God.

The first candle was at the opposite end of the table, but he could see her. How could her skin look so perfect under that light? How could the flickering of the flame have such an amazing effect on her features?

Oh, God.

He didn't love her, remember?

_Where was his resolve?_

Oh yes. Right there. With the rest of the puddle that was his head. Right underneath the memory of winning the pie eating contest with James, Sirius, and Peter.

She was closer now. So close. Right across from him, actually. He shivered. _'Please don't light the match'_ he thought desperately. _'It's that that's keeping me from. . .'_ He didn't allow himself to finish his thought. He stared down at his plate. He just wouldn't look up. He was vaguely aware of Arthur asking him to pass the salt. That man had the _worst_ timing.

He looked up.

Oh _God!_

The light from the match was flickering, casting smooth shadows across her face. How many candles normally cast faces into sharp relief, causing an unknown sharpness the appear across their features? How did she manage to pull off exactly the opposite?

The match was inches from the candle. Why was she moving so slowly? Her eyes were pointed downward, looking as though her eyes were closed. The flame gave her skin an enchanting, soft glow. Her radiance stood before him, absorbed in the task at hand. Her face -

He tried to look away. He really did. He knew that he could not - he could _not_ admire her like this. But he couldn't look away. He was frozen by her figure.

A blush rose in his cheeks while the rest of his body went goose bumps with chills.

He could almost feel himself shiver.

She lit the candle.

For a moment he merely stared at the flame, watching. It flickered and shivered, emitting a soft glow. It dared to reach away from the small wick that tied it down to it's candle, jumping away, falling back. Wild. Young. The candle itself, used over and over already, stood tall against the flame, holding it in place. Experienced. Unmoving. Quiet. Still, stiff. Level-headed. Older. It was beautiful. The two, together, contrasting each other with a delicate beauty, each improving the other.

The candle without the flame was stiff and colorless. As level-headed as it was.

The flame without the candle was wild, uncontrollable, almost dangerous.

But together. . .

Wax rolled down the candle simultaneous to the bead of sweat that fell down the side of his forehead. He looked past the candle, trying to distract himself.

Bad idea.

Nymphadora had taken a seat across from him. She was talking animatedly with Hestia, hands moving all over her face as she changed expressions rapidly, laughing at her own stories and jokes. He felt a fresh wave of chills fall through him.

"Let me guess - " Kingsley nudged him. "You don't love her?" Remus blushed again and hastily picked up his fork and knife, slicing his steak with unnatural vigor. "Yes, and that helps you escape notice." Remus felt himself smile. How Sirius-like was that?

He stuck his fork into his food and asked Arthur to send the salt back. He obliged and Remus salted his meat as he jumped into a conversation with Bill, Kingsley, and Arthur. They had been talking about Bill's ventures with the goblins for a good ten minutes when slowly everyone decided that it was time that they took over the conversation.

"And then Ragnok just decides that he needs to - "

"But what about Gripho - "

"I'm _getting_ there," Bill retorted to Kingsley. "So Ragnok. . ." Remus drifted away from the

conversation as Arthur jumped in and interrupted yet again. He laughed and shook his head, promptly stealing the steak sauce from Kingsley, who was still trying to sneak in his query about Griphook. He turned back, forgetting Tonks was right across from him.

Staring.

Remus felt himself flush as he melted in her chocolate eyes. He quickly avoided her gaze and focused all his attention on the remains of his steak.

The flame danced over his food.

He could feel her looking at him.

His heart beat faster.

He imagined the candle's light dancing across her soft features.

He looked up.

Even though he didn't want to.

She was still staring, and the light danced across her face exactly as he thought it would. Her face practically glowed and as her face flushed with embarrassment it merely gave her the look of a sunrise. She pushed her mousey brown hair behind her ear.

More chills.

"Um. . ." she searched for a topic and her eyes glanced around the room, trying to find something to say.

"You have a, er, a really nice house," he said in a rush. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"Thanks," she said shortly, sounding as awkward as the silence that followed. He tried to take refuge in sticking a large piece of steak, but there wasn't any left. Or salad. Or anything.

"The food was t - Nymphadora." He stopped mid-sentence. He continued on in a undertone. "I'm really sorry about. . .about what happened after Sirius. . .passed. I didn't, well, I did, but I, I didn't mean what, but the rest, and the truth, but I never intended, the things, but, well - " Her stare melted his heart, his words, his mouth. "I do. . ." he trailed off. Others were excusing themselves from the table. Tonks looked up for a moment and insisted that it would be she to clean the dishes.

Remus almost laughed.

Even though she was terrible - and knew it - she insisted -

"Want me to help out?" he asked. She smiled, making his heart skip.

"Sure, Remus."

How could her lips look so perfect when they said his name? He summoned the empty plates on the table and carried them to the sink in her small kitchen. Yet another candle was burning ceaselessly on the windowsill. From behind the large stack of plates and platters he watched Tonks precariously balance plate after plate on top of another, moving with a normally unseen grace while she attempted to keep balance.

The unseen grace that Remus never failed to see.

He slowly placed the plates inside the shallow sink and flicked his wand, sending various kitchen supplies to work. He supervised as the dish soap threatened to drown the dishes and the sinks went from blasting to merely dripping.

Granted, he was a bit distracted.

This time he took refuge in the soapy dishwater to avoid her gaze. Out of the corner of his eye he say Nymphadora lower her stack of plates into the sink. He sensed her next to him, felt her breath, her presence, smelled her perfume, felt her soft arm unintentionally graze his tattered robes. . .

He looked up from the dishwater to look at her.

She, too, was staring into the dishwater.

"I was never all too good at that."

"Nymphadora, wait, I - "

"Washing dishes, I mean," she continued, plowing on as though she hadn't heard him. "I was never good at a lot of things, actually. I was always much too clumsy."

"Nymph - "

"I mean, you too. It wasn't really clumsiness. I don't really know what it was."

"Nym - "

"I never thought you'd speak to me again, actually. I mean, after what you said after Sirius died. I never really thought that I was that bad, really." She paused, and this time Remus didn't interrupt. "I mean, what you said really hurt. Really, it did. And no matter what I said you never, _never_ gave in. Half the time I didn't even think you were listening." She picked up a clean plate and idly dried it with a towel, ignoring the fact that Remus had a towel drying everything at lightning speed. Remus flicked his wand to stop the spell, the dishes done. He leaned up against the counter and embraced the awkward silence for a moment. Then he realized that it was his turn to say something. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"I was - earlier - trying - tell you - " He let out another sigh. "The only truth I was speaking last night was when I told you of my age, danger, and poverty." He could feel her eyes boring into the side of his head. He met her gaze, and the next words came out as a whisper. "I love you."

He wanted to fit into words how she made his heart skip, his head melt, his thoughts collapse with him thinking of nothing but _her_, he wanted to tell her of his burning desire to be with her, to hold her, to feel the wondrous sensation in him wherever he went. But he was unsure how to.

They were suddenly so close. . .

Her lips on his were shy at first. Wondering, daring, asking politely. Remus felt his arm wrap around her waist and her tongue teasing him on his lips. Cautiously he obliged, halfway out of intense curiosity for the taste of her mouth, the other half so he could finally pour out everything he ever felt for her into the kiss -

The two, together, contrasting each other with a delicate beauty, each improving the other.

It was beautiful.

It was love.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

**A/N:** Wow, jumbles of inspiration on that one. Started off as a random thought while I listened to "I Melt," but this pretty much has nothing to do with that song except for the fact that there's a candle in it. But I do love the candle. : ) A bunch of other songs kind of moved in, especially "Oasis." Their album, "(What's The Story) Morning Glory?" Love it. But I must admit, the lead singer's voice takes some getting used to. But now I like it.

Anyone who reads The Courtyard is probably shouting at me to quit writing random one-shots and update already, eh? Well guess what - MIDTERMS! And as we all know, great inspiration strikes right in the middle of your Chemistry midterm, and while we study for the endless tests we do not have time to write. We only write when inspiration hits.

It's _not_ my fault that my muse has a certain affinity for tests.

**Big Thanks:** To the _world._ I feel like being _nice_ today. Oh, and to Mike, James, and Salz, for knowing when it's time to carry me (literally) out of Health Class.

Long story there.

**Reviews:** Are wonderful things. And are highly appreciated.


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